A Cheyenne Christmas Homecoming (The Sweet Cheyenne Quartet Book 4)

by Caroline Lee

  It had snowed during the night, but it didn’t seem to affect life in the big city. Of course, the snow wasn’t particularly deep, just heavy and thick enough to muffle sounds and mute harsh lines. It was Nate’s favorite kind of snow, and he wondered if Wendy remembered playing in it when they were kids.

  Those winters they’d spent together when they were both discovering each other and themselves… those had been pretty special. She had been pretty special. She was the first person—besides her sisters and Ash—who hadn’t seemed to care about his Indian blood. He’d been so nervous around her at first, afraid that she’d think less of him, and desperately wanting to be worthy of her friendship. Of her affection. But after two winters of being constantly with her, of knowing her and understanding her, he’d realized that Wendy just didn’t notice the fact that he was Indian. Or if she did, it didn’t matter to her. It was an eye-opening realization for a kid who’d spent his life being second-best.

  Yesterday, Mrs. Blakely’s attitude hadn’t surprised him, although he’d hoped people in such a big city would have been more open-minded. Nope, he knew what he was, and knew how people thought of him. It was just a fact of life, and the bigotry he ran into didn’t shock him anymore.

  Of course, in Cheyenne, he was able to prove that he was as good a man as any. There’d been a few years, especially in that time right after Wendy had left and he was angry at everything and everyone, where he’d used his fists to prove it. Men started to give him grudging space, and stopped the names they’d call when he walked by.

  But he was determined to be on his best behavior here in the city. And besides, Mrs. Blakely was old enough to be his mother. Actually, what little he remembered of his mother, she’d been pretty damn young when he was born, so Mrs. Blakely was quite a few years older. And set in her ways. She’d never had to worry about going hungry, or selling herself to stay alive, and would have been horrified at the mere thought. But Nate came from a different world; a harsher world. So he figured there was no use talking to someone like her, or trying to defend himself. She wasn’t going to admit that he was a man, same as anyone else, no matter the color of his skin.

  He stopped in front of their house. Hands shoved into the pockets of his duster, he tilted his head back to gaze at the mansion. It was bigger than anything he could remember seeing in Cheyenne, even on Millionaires’ Row, and there were a dozen like it along this street alone. There were fancy carved swirls and angels or something all along the eaves, and statues in the front behind the wrought-iron fence. It looked like an illustration from one of Annie’s fairy tales, and it was hard to believe that this perfection housed such intolerance. Shaking his head, Nate continued on to the alley that cut towards the rear of the houses.

  Emerging into a sort of back street that all the mansions’ rears seemed to line, he saw the bustle he’d expected to see around front. Apparently in the city, rich people left all the work for the back door. Here the snow was rutted and muddy from delivery trucks and heavy boots, and here there was all the activity he hadn’t seen on Pratte Avenue. Men were lifting bags and bins, women were calling instructions, and he even saw a kid or two, bundled up against the cold, darting among the wagons with their own little sacks or letters.

  It wasn’t too hard to figure out which one was the Blakelys’ house, and he tipped his hat politely to the large woman standing on the back stoop, her fists on her amble hips as she supervised a delivery from a milk-cart. “Good morning, ma’am.”

  “What do you want?” She hadn’t given him a second look, and Nate didn’t know if that was because his skin color didn’t matter to her, or if she was just too busy to notice.

  “I’m here to see Wendy Murray. She’s expecting me.”

  That earned another glance, and then a third, more thorough look. Nate resisted the urge to shift uncomfortably under her gaze. “Is she now?” A sniff, and then a shrug. “Alright. Hey! If you break those, you clumsy oaf, you’ll owe me eight bottles!” The last had been shouted at the delivery man, and she grabbed the bin from him with a harrumph. Turning another calculating stare on Nate, she finally nodded. “Wait here. I don’t need anyone else tracking mud into my nice clean kitchen.”

  Nate didn’t say anything, but held the door for her while she manhandled the bin of milk bottles into the house. She seemed surprised, but kicked the doors shut behind her nonetheless. He was left standing on the stoop, like an errant boy.

  But before he had a chance to decide if it was worth knocking, the door flew open, and Wendy stood there, breathless. Had she been waiting for him? Had she rushed to the door? That was what it looked like.

  She was wearing a bright blue coat that hugged all the right curves, and buttoned down over her full skirt. A muff and matching bonnet dangled from her right hand. There were spots of color high on each cheek, and her eyes were sparkling. And that hair style; he’d never seen a woman with hair so short, barely covering her ears. It was curlier now than when it had been long, and poofier, and Nate liked it. He wanted to touch it, to touch her… but he didn’t move.

  Instead, he realized that she’d been staring at him, and slowly, his lips quirked. His grin grew as her expression turned to one of surprise. And then—thank God!—she smiled back. It was a shy smile, not the kind he remembered her bestowing on him, but still… it would do for now.

  “Hi, Wendy.”

  “Hi, Nate.”

  And just like that, they were kids again. He offered her his arm, awkwardly, like a boy playing grown-up, and she took it just as hesitantly. But then he helped her down the steps, and they turned up the street, and in negotiating the obstacles around them they grew comfortable with one another.

  Turning down another alley and emerging onto the much calmer Caroline Street., Nate heard her give a little sigh. Of relief? Of relaxation? He glanced at her, noting her pink cheeks and the excitement in her eyes. She let go of his arm long enough to slip that blue bonnet over her curls, but quickly latched on again. Nate told himself it was because she was afraid of slipping on the slush, not that she wanted to touch him. Still, he grinned.

  “Well? Where to?”

  “You don’t have any ideas?”

  “Me? I just got here. I don’t know anything about the city. Where do you usually go on your days off?”

  She shrugged. “Truthfully, nowhere too exciting. Sometimes church. Sometimes shopping. There are a few museums that are interesting. Usually, just anything to get out of the house.”

  He almost asked her why she was so desperate to leave the Blakely house, but decided that if the rest of the family was anything like the matriarch, he could guess. “Alright.” Concentrating on leading her around a big pile of shoveled snow, he asked, “Well, it’s a nice day, and the snow’s stopped, so let’s go enjoy it.”

  She didn’t have to think long. “Can I assume that you don’t mind being outdoors?”

  His lips quirked slightly. “Yeah, you can assume that.”

  “Usually I walk around St. Vincent’s Cemetery, or Lafayette Square.” She nodded back towards Park Avenue. “But since we have the entire day, let’s go see Tower Grove Park. It probably won’t take the whole day, but…”

  It sounded like she was babbling. Nate wondered if she was nervous. “Fine by me.” He made an outrageous bow that made her chuckle. “Lead the way, Miss Murray.”

  She was still smiling when she turned them back towards Park Avenue, and they strolled past the mansions of the wealthy. She pointed out various houses and landmarks, and Nate was surprised to find that he really was interested in her world. It was so different from what he was used to, and while it made him feel as trapped as Cheyenne did, it was a fascinating trap. The buildings were taller, and the surroundings more elegant, than in Cheyenne. But he missed the wide open spaces of the ranch. He wondered if Wendy ever thought of Wyoming, or if she was so happy to be back in a city that she’d forgotten about the beauty of the rolling hills.

  Walking with her beside him made him feel�
�� complete, but also awkward. She was so at home here, among these mansions and elegance. He’d always felt different, like he was standing out, because of his skin-color; but it was even more noticeable here in the city. People were staring at them, probably wondering what a scruffy Indian cowboy was doing escorting such a fine lady around. He’d never been one to care what others thought of him, not really, but he made a note to go find a tailor and see about getting one of those fancy suits all the men wore. If he was going to be here in the city for a while, it’d be better to fit in. Also, he figured Wendy would get a kick out of seeing him looking so dandified.

  They boarded a street car on Park, and turned south on Grand Avenue. Wendy said it was the old city limits, but it looked to Nate like there was still plenty of city on the other side. He helped her down at Tower Grove Park, and wished that neither of them were wearing gloves, so he could feel the warmth of her skin as she gripped his hand.

  Their eyes met briefly there, by the archway, and he stopped breathing, just for a moment. Good Lord, she was beautiful.

  She was the one to break the spell, pulling her hand away from his and shoving it into her muff. The smile she plastered on her face was brittle and fake. “Shall we?” She tilted her head through the archway, and he couldn’t help that his nod was curt at the moment being lost.

  Wendy was the one who kept the conversation going, as they strolled through what he supposed was a nice enough garden. She brought up amusing experiences from their years together in Wyoming, and he recognized it for the olive branch that it was, and started to participate. Soon they were both reminiscing and chuckling as the strolled down the muddy gravel paths.

  The park was pristine, all carefully manicured lawns and shaped bushes that had faded to white blobs under the snow. There were even a few frozen-over ponds, with some brave kids ice-skating on them. The dead of winter probably wasn’t the best time to appreciate the landscaping that had gone into it, but it was nice to be there, with her. Nate mentioned that it was the sort of place that Serena and Sebastian would like to see, and Wendy agreed. Nate knew that she’d never met Sebastian, but was sure she’d heard all about him from her best friend. After all, she’d kept writing to Serena all this time. So he steered the conversation in that direction.

  “Sebastian’s family is pretty wealthy, you know. I mean, he’s fitting in alright out in Cheyenne, which isn’t that rough anymore. But he’d be right at home someplace like this.”

  “Oh? He likes parks, then, does he?” There was a teasing lilt to her voice that made Nate smile.

  “Not that I know of. But he likes… order. And neatness.” Nate looked around, taking in the symmetry of the paths and plants. “This is the sort of place that would appeal to him.”

  “Well,” She grabbed his forearm and pulled him off along another path. “The flowers are all dead and the shrubs are covered. I didn’t bring you here to see them. My favorite part of the park—and the reason I think Serena would like it—is down this way.”

  Up until then, Nate had sensed an underlying tension in her words, in the way she interacted with him. Like she felt awkward, but was trying to hide it. Her reminisces were a bit too fond, her laughter a bit too forced. But now, her face relaxed into a genuine smile, and he liked the way the excitement lit those dark blue eyes. Here was the Wendy he remembered.

  His heart tightened at the realization.

  “This is the music pavilion. I’ve attended a few performances here during the warmer months, on my days off.” Her hand slid down his arm until she was gripping his again, pulling him along. “And this…” she drew him to a halt in front of a larger-than-life statue of a man in old-fashioned clothes up on a pedestal. Or a plinth. Nate wasn’t sure if there was a difference.

  “This is Miller’s Shakespeare.” Wendy was breathless, like she was sharing a great treasure with him. He glanced at her, and saw the hope there plain on her face. Hope for what? That he’d appreciate a statue? Nate looked back at the figure.

  Raising his brows, and hoping he sounded sufficiently impressed, Nate nodded. “He sure is big. Think he was that tall in real life?”

  She burst into laughter then, and he smiled in response. “I know you probably don’t care as much as I do.” She sighed and turned back to the statue, craning her head back to stare up at the snow that covered the author’s head and shoulders. “But he’s my absolute favorite thing in St. Louis. Sometimes—” she glanced at him and hesitated, as if revealing a secret, “Sometimes I come out here and talk things over with him.”

  “Is he a good listener?”

  She chuckled again, and Nate smiled in response. “Yes, but he doesn’t give very good advice.” She sighed happily. “But he’s the only one in this whole city who lets me talk and complain.”

  “Your friends don’t?”

  Her smile faded and her shoulders slumped, but she didn’t take her gaze away from Shakespeare’s face. “I don’t have any friends here, Nate.” She swallowed, and he wondered what it must have cost to admit that. “I have acquaintances, from my time at the High School, and with the Mulligans, but none that I would feel comfortable ranting to.”

  Nate didn’t react, but it was hard. What kind of life had she led, then, for the past three years? He’d thought that they’d been friends, and he knew that she’d been friends with Serena. But to come out here, and not have that closeness with anyone… it must have been hard. Isolating. No wonder she kept writing to Serena, even if she’d cut him out of her life.

  Why had she cut him out?

  “I’m sorry, Wendy.”

  That too-bright smile was back when she turned to him. “Why should you be? I made my bed, and now I sleep in it.” She glanced back at the statue. “Besides, Mr. Shakespeare listens when I need a friendly ear.”

  Placing her hand on his arm again—he swore he could feel a tingle through her gloves and his duster—she turned him around to stroll towards another clearing. “This is Miller’s Alexander von Humbolt.”

  Nate dutifully halted before a near-identical statue to Shakespeare. While he knew who the great English playwright was, having read some of his works with Wendy years ago, he couldn’t guess who this guy was supposed to be. Luckily, Humbolt apparently mattered less to her, because they didn’t linger, but strolled back towards the music pavilion.

  Wendy waved at the busts in the clearing on either side, where other promenading couples were halted, admiring the marble carvings. “That’s Mozart. That’s Rossini. And I’ve heard that Miller is working on a Beethoven.” Nate nodded, as if he had any idea who she was talking about.

  Their earlier ease had been broken, and now they walked in awkward silence. He wondered what she was thinking about, if she was regretting such a revealing comment about her life. He wondered why she’d lived with such loneliness, when she had family and friends who missed her back home.

  When they reached the edge of the park, Wendy took a deep breath. “Are you ready to return?”

  “Are you nuts?” Her surprised look made him grin. “I’ve been thinking about getting you alone for… well, for years. And you’ve got the whole day off. I’m not returning you to Mrs. Blakely ‘til it’s dark.”

  “Oh.” Yeah, he was pretty sure that was a pleased blush and smile. If he hadn’t been looking right at her, he might have missed the flicker of blue as she glanced his way behind her spectacles. “I’m not ready either. I’ve…” she swallowed, and raised her eyes to his.

  He fell.

  He fell into her eyes, he fell in love. He fell in love with the loneliness and the vulnerability and the quiet strength and the hope that he saw in those deep pools of blue. He felt his chest seize, and didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know if he could compress years of longing and desire into something simple and pithy enough to impress an author. So he just held his breath.

  “…I’ve missed you. Missed spending time with you.” Her voice was a whisper, but Nate felt the admission clear down to his soul.

 
; He placed his free hand over hers where it rested on his forearm, and then slid it down until he could twine his fingers through hers. A sense of peace slipped over him. This was the way things should be. “I’ve missed you too, Wendy.”

  She smiled, her old smile, the real one. The smile of understanding and teasing and a hint of exasperation that she’d used to bestow on only him. It made him want to kiss her, right there in the middle of the cold park.

  Then she blinked, and the new Wendy was back, the Wendy that belonged here in this big city. “I’m hungry. How about you?” He just nodded, and she led him towards a vendor who had a shelter set up around some benches and a cheery firepit. They sat side-by-side and traded tastes and jokes about childhood meals and adventures.

  Later, they took the streetcar back towards the city center to a museum Wendy described as “interesting,” if under-visited. The portraits and dioramas didn’t hold Nate’s attention nearly as well as the route through the industrial section of town had. He’d made a note to visit again, just so he could ask about all of those smokestacks and turbines. The exhibits in the museum were all historical, and it was just another indication of how different he and Wendy had become. But he noticed that she wasn’t as intrigued as she pretended. Thankfully, there were few people visiting that day, and even fewer as they made their way out of the hall of paintings.

  They’d left their coats and hats with an attendant at the front, and Nate watched from the corner of his eye as she worried the exhibit map between her hands. She was always so strong and composed that it was odd to see her so distressed. But then, she used to only show her worries and fear to him. It had pleased him that she’d trusted him enough to show him her true feelings.

  Stopping in front of a stuffed mountain lion perched on a fake fallen tree—Nate had a hard time being impressed when he’d seen the real thing—he gave up his secret glances and turned towards her, admiring her profile.

  She pretended to ignore him.

  He wondered what she was thinking. Wondered why her breathing had gotten shallower. Wondered why she was suddenly wringing her hands, instead of just worrying the paper. Wondered if her shoulders could get any straighter, or her jaw any tighter.